Tags
by MajorSam
Summary: Lucy discovers something in Wyatt's drawer she did NOT expect to find.


**Tags  
****By: MajorSam**

**Warning**: Utterly ridiculous, over the top military-jargon-flirt-smut-trash. Lyatt making the most of a kids-free-night. Blame, as always, PeachCheetah.

* * *

Lucy had had plans for the day. Good, responsible, productive plans… but they all flew out the window the second she found _them_.

Wyatt's dog tags.

She couldn't even touch them, at first. She just stared down at them, lying so innocently in the back of Wyatt's bathroom drawer. She'd been in the middle of a full bathroom purge, a random Tuesday of administratively cancelled classes gifting her an unexpected day off to attend to long overdue house chores, when she saw the flash of metal. Their presence had hit her like a blow to the head. Wyatt's dog tags.

How had she never seen them before?

He was military through and through, after all. Didn't they wear their dog tags 24/7, no matter what? Wasn't it a regulation that they had to wear them? Beyond that, weren't they a point of pride? For god's sake, she was married to the man, and had somehow _never_ seen his dog tags! The idea upset her more than she expected as she finally reached down to pull them out of the drawer. All thoughts of cleaning abandoned her. She instead wandered vaguely towards the living room, tags in hand. Wyatt found her sitting on the couch when he arrived home.

"Honey, I'm home!" he called. The words shook her out of her trance, a small smile forming on her face as always happened when he recited the phrase, purposely over-enthusiastic and song-like.

"You sound like a cheesy 50's movie," she'd scolded the first time he'd done it. He'd laughed at her and scooped her up in his arms.

"Exactly!" he'd nodded his head before kissing her. "Cause you're my 50's housewife!"

She'd pulled back abruptly. "Excuse me!?"

"And you're my 40's housewife. And 60's. and 1880's. and 1750's. And 2000's, and-"

"Okay okay, I get it," she'd laughed. "But If I'm your housewife, you're my househusband."

"Absolutely!" he'd grinned. "Totally and completely whipped, existing only to obey and please my badass, brilliant wife."

"Obey and please, hmm?"

"In any and every way," he'd smirked. Then set about proving his sincerity.

It had become a lovely inside joke for them ever since.

"In the living room," she called. He entered a few seconds later, walking to her side and leaning down to plant a kiss on her cheek.

"Hey, what's going…." He trailed off as his eyes found the item in his wife's hands. "Umm… Lucy?"

"How have I never seen these?" she asked, getting straight to the point. "How long have I known you now? How long have we been married?"

He swallowed and moved to sit beside her on the couch.

"The girls?" he asked.

"Successfully installed in their Grandma's house for the night."

"And you're sure Denise was okay with it?"

"Wyatt," she rolled her eyes. "You know Denise would have the girls move in with her if she could."

He grinned, always so thrilled at how everyone loved their daughters so much. Not as much as he or Lucy, of course, but lately they didn't even have to ask for anyone to take the girls for a night to allow them to go on a date, or just catch up on sleep. Their friends, their _family_, clamoured for the rights to sleepovers.

"So… how did you find these?" he carefully got back on topic.

"I was cleaning the bathroom."

"Ooh, sexy plans for your day of freedom."

"Yeah, well, it has to be done sometime."

"But then…"

"Then I found these." She held the small objects aloft.

He sighed, settling back against the couch and slipping his fingers between her free hand, absently running his thumb over the back of it.

"Don't you guys always wear them? Don't you have to? Aren't you proud to?" She squeezed his hand, not knowing why she was so upset. Perhaps it's because she'd thought she knew him so well, loved him so much, and so to find such a glaring, obvious omission about something so important to him…

"It's a hard thing to explain," he started. "Yes, on tour, I always wore them. It's a point of pride, as you say, but it's also still used to identify bodies and take the proof home, like they were originally for."

She tightened her grip at the thought. He'd done several tours before they started time-travelling, she knew that. They'd talked about them. The thought of him, dead in some desert right here in the present, would always plague her.

"But when I was assigned to Mason Industries," he continued. "well, that first mission, I took them off. I mean, army tags looked a lot different than this back then.. My briefing was whirlwind to say the least, but I got the point that modern stuff was a no go."

"Except for underwire bras and modern guns, apparently?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah, well…"

"And…" she encouraged him to continue.

"I just never put them on again. I dunno, I guess… our missions never felt like a normal tour, to me. It wasn't "Hey, go to Afghanistan for a few months". I mean, at first, I thought it would be one mission, maybe two or three, then done. But when it became apparent that we were there for the long haul… I threw them in a drawer and forgot about them, to be honest. I felt-"

He cut off and looked away, shaking his head.

"What is it?" she asked gently.

"Everything became about so much more than a job, an assignment. You guys weren't just my team, you were my friends, my… my family. I honestly didn't really think about the dog tags much. But now that I am, maybe I thought what we were doing was about more than doing my duty. My whole adult life, I'd been defined by my status as a military man. Time travelling made me so much more." He squeezed her hand and looking her in the eyes, his blue orbs shining. "_You_ made me so much more."

Lucy smiled shyly, thoughtfully, before leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek as she continued to fiddle with the tags with one hand. In a sudden burst of inspiration, she brought them up and slung them around her husband's neck. His shoulders automatically rolled back as his posture straightened ever so slightly. She hummed thoughtfully.

"Looks like they still mean a lot to you," she observed.

"Well, obviously, yeah…"

Lucy felt something stir, deep in her stomach. She ran her fingers from the chain around his neck down to the tags on his chest.

"I mean, you are still a military man, Master Sergeant…"

He gulped, sitting yet straighter. "Uh-huh."

Sure, his assignment to "special operations" with Homeland Security was as unconventional as they came, but he was still technically enlisted in the army.

"You can take the man out of the army, but not the army out of the man, right?" Her fingers slipped from the tags to run over his chest instead.

"That's correct, ma'am," he nodded his head solemnly. Her mouth quirked up in the corner.

"What if I said I have an extra special assignment for you?" she rotated on the couch until she could swing a leg over his, then sunk down into his lap. He gulped.

"Assignment, ma'am?"

"Mmmhm. Top priority. A matter of national security."

"I'm _very_ good at securing things." His hands caressed her waist, running down to secure her hips in his capable grasp. She bit her lip, eyes visibly darkening.

"Then let me lead you to the battlefield," she murmured, standing up off the couch and grabbing him by the tags. She tugged him up and led him towards their bedroom, pulling him along. He eagerly followed.

"Any special orders, ma'am?" he asked as they crossed the threshold. She turned around and yanked him towards her, her free arm encircling his neck as she enthusiastically kissed him.

"Yes," she breathed between kisses. "We are deviating from standard operating procedures on this mission."

He groaned against her mouth. "You're so hot when you speak military…"

She smirked, knowing exactly how much he liked it when she did so.

"I'll do whatever it takes," he promised, slipping his hands underneath her oversized t-shirt. "To get the job done." She always wore baggy, rundown clothes to clean the house. They were practical. As was her clean, make-up free face, her hair tied up in a messy bun. She thought she looked dowdy but didn't care because she was cleaning. He thought she looked hot. Then again, he pretty much always thought that, no matter what. He guided her back towards the bed, lips never leaving hers until she rucked up his t-shirt and he was forced to pull back so it could come off. Her hands immediately moved on to his jeans. She had him down to his boxers in seconds. As she pulled them off, he reached to grab the dog tags and pull them off. She ripped her mouth away from his.

"No!" she commanded sternly. "Those stay on."

If he hadn't been rock hard already, her words would have done it. He swallowed, mouth suddenly bone dry.

"Really?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at him. "That's a resounding hell yes, soldier."

He nodded his head, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. "Umm… y... yeah…"

"Excuse me?"

He coughed, shaking his head and steeling himself. When he spoke again his voice was firm and deep. "Yes ma'am."

Lucy visibly shuddered, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip as she took a deep breath.

"Lay down," she ordered.

Wyatt sat back onto the bed and shifted until his head was on the pillow, his body laid out and bare before her gaze. She took several moments appraising him, head to toe, the dog tags rising and falling steadily against his bare chest with his attempts at controlling his breath.

"This assignment requires special skills," she informed him, standing beside the bed with her hands clasped behind her like she was an officer addressing her troops. "Only the best of the best could possibly hope to achieve success."

"I'm up for the task."

"Did I say you could speak?"

He shivered, wide-eyed. "Sorry, Ma'am."

"I'll let it slide," she generously allowed as she put her hand on his knee before sliding it up and up… just skirting where he needed it, moving to run a thumb over his hipbone before leaving his skin entirely.

Her hands moved instead to the elastic of her baggy shorts, pushing them to the floor in one sweep. Wyatt couldn't tell if she'd been wearing underwear or if they'd come down in the sweep and he didn't really care. Her oversized shirt fell to her thighs, but he could tell she was bare underneath. When he finally tore his gaze away from her creamy skin, he finally realized what shirt she was wearing. If he hadn't already been lying down, he would have fallen over. How the hell hadn't he realized it before?

It was his.

It was his old, worn-down, stretched out grey T with a big, bold, all capitals "ARMY" emblazoned across the chest. She kept it on.

As his wife crawled onto the bed and bracketed his body, mounting him like a horse, he accepted that she had more power over him than any hard-bitten army commander ever had or could.

"As I was saying," she said sternly, "I require a soldier with supreme resilience."

She encircled his wrists with her slim fingers and forced his arms above his head. Holding him there, she lowered her hips to his. Hot, wet heat dragged across him and he was forced to shut his eyes, hold his breath against the onslaught.

"I can handle it," he swore in a pinched voice.

"Can you?"

She swirled her hips again. He wondered for a moment why he was lightheaded before he realized he'd been holding his breath.

"Not very promising so far," she scolded.

"I'm fine," he growled. "I'm ready."

"You need to survive training before I'll let you be deployed," she warned.

"I can handle whatever you throw at me."

"We'll see."

And with no further preamble whatsoever, she slid all the way down his body until she was level with his hips, enveloping him completely with her mouth. Both his arms flew off the bed, instinctively flying towards her hair, but through pure strength of will he gained control of them at the last second and laid them back down beside his head. She hummed approval around him as she wrapped a hand around his base, squeezing him. A noise rose up through his throat. She squeezed further. He resigned himself to panting.

She worked him like the fate of the world was indeed at stake, feverishly and with a passion only Lucy could express. It took every ounce of control he had to not burst apart in the sweet embrace of her mouth. But he knew he couldn't. He needed to survive training. He needed to, because he knew, he _knew, _that the rewards beyond would be so much more than he could even imagine. Because every time with Lucy, even now, years and several children later, was better and better. She was always worth it.

Even when she got into a mood and seemed set to destroy him, as she was right then.

Wyatt was fisting the sheets, ready to start tearing them apart when she finally let up on him, seconds from release. His body strained towards her, burning, but she didn't relent. Instead she tortured him further, pursing her full lips and blowing a stream of cool air against his slick skin. His whole body shook, teeth grinding harshly as he hissed.

"Do you surrender?"

"Never," he growled.

She dipped down and scraped her teeth ever so gently against him.

_Fuck_.

"Now?"

"N…No," he shook his head furiously. Oh god, he wasn't sure what would explode first, his head, heart, or cock.

The next second his world tilted, eyes flying open as she grabbed his dog tags and yanked his body up off the bed with a strength he sometimes forgot she had in her lithe, slim body. He stared into her eyes, sharp coals that penetrated to the depths of his soul.

"Now?"

He gulped, taken aback at the intensity of her gaze, the impact his dog tags had apparently had on her. There were deeper things than sex happening, and he knew he couldn't misstep. He slowly shook his head. Lucy searched his face for several moments. Sweat dripped down his face, itchy, and burning his eyes, but he didn't blink. He held his breath. Finally, her luminous eyes darkened even further.

"Time to ship out," she informed him in a gravelly voice. Before he could even prepare, she was sinking down onto him, taking him to the hilt in her hot, tight heat. He risked the chance of punishment to grasp her hips, his hands _needing_ to touch her silken skin, hold her, keep her steady above him. He sent a prayer to whatever powers were watching when she didn't reprimand him for it. Instead, she used his support to ride him with a fervour he hadn't experienced since before the twins were born, clutching at his dog tags like they were the reigns to his stallion. Her hair was wild, messy strands falling down her back and across her face, mouth open and moaning. She finally let go of the role play, shamelessly working him until her pleasure overwhelmed her. In any other circumstance he would have laughed, shaken his head at the ridiculousness, but when, just as she started to come down from her high, she murmured "Deploy", he came on command, calling her name.

Lucy collapsed on top of him, breathless and utterly spent.

He wanted to laugh, wanted to tease her. But he couldn't. He was too wrecked, too overwhelmed by her intensity to make fun. He just wanted to make sure she was okay, that she'd worked out what she'd needed to.

"Luce…?"

"I'm good," she quickly assured, though her voice was laced with sleep.

"Yeah?" he needed to confirm. "You know if you ever need to ask anything, to know anything…"

"I know," she nodded, her head now burrowed against his chest.

"Good." He wrapped his arms around her, his old t-shirt soft and faded against his embrace. "Cause you know you're my CO. No matter what the paperwork says."

He could feel her smirk against his chest.

"I know."

Wyatt still didn't quite understand what had just happened, but if his wife was happy, so was he. They were a team, a unit, and every mission accomplished was a testament to their compatibility. As she curled herself around him, body relaxing into sleep, he couldn't help but sigh. She was the best teammate he'd ever had, both in battle, and in life. He knew he'd never find her equal. And he never needed to.

"At ease, soldier," she mumbled, half asleep already.

"Yes Ma'am."

The End.

* * *

So… does Wyatt deserve commendation for his services? His decorum in the face of the opponent? Could I have put in cheesier military-flirt-jargon? Do we need to have a story with him in his full uniform? Does _Lucy_ deserve a promotion? Hahaha. What would her title/rank be? Let me know. Maybe I can find away to insert it into a fic someday 😉


End file.
